


Angel Face: Strange Neighbors

by multilefaiye



Series: The Eyes of God - Angel Face AU [1]
Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: (and gore), Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Rated For Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28614948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/multilefaiye/pseuds/multilefaiye
Summary: A young teenager with a prosthetic face and a mysterious past moves into a new apartment building with his father after a terrible tragedy.An angel has come to a place of evil.
Relationships: Sal Fisher & Larry Johnson - Relationship, Sal Fisher/Original Male Character(s)
Series: The Eyes of God - Angel Face AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2096763
Comments: 9
Kudos: 5





	Angel Face: Strange Neighbors

**Author's Note:**

> Hi hello Sally Face fandom....... take this offering.....
> 
> Okay jokes aside I've fallen back into Sally Face and remembered how much I love this series. Yes, it makes me cry, but it also makes me really happy and is a huge comfort for me. So,,,, why not,,,, make some AUs,,,,,,,,, because that's how I express my love for things.
> 
> This AU isn't going to make much sense just yet, but I am working on writing up the main story for it! Here's hoping I... finish that... haha.
> 
> As a fun exercise, and to help distract myself from current events, I decided to rewrite the first episode of the game in the context of this AU! I didn't make too many big changes, but I thought it'd be fun. You don't have to read this to understand the AU--I mainly wrote this for myself. 
> 
> (Also, the OC referenced here, Bilal Wright, belongs to my partner, who you can find at skitzo-kero.tumblr.com! He and Sal aren't together just yet, but they do eventually get together in the main story, hence the relationship tag.)

It was the same dream.  _ It was always the same dream. _

~

It was dark, nearly pitch black, but Sal could immediately tell where he was as he became aware of his surroundings. His bare feet were planted on a cold tile floor, and the smell of antiseptic was heavy in the air. He was wearing a thin gown that hung off of his thin frame, and his face was covered in blood-soaked bandages except for one eye, wrapped so tightly he could hardly breathe.

He was in a hospital.

A shudder went through him at the realization. He hadn’t been in a hospital since--

A harsh ringing sound cut off that train of thought, and Sal flinched. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness by now, and he could make out his surroundings. He was in a rather large room, with tables and chairs set up around the hospital bed and the various machines and IV stands around it, a blank television screen watching impassively. There was a vase on one of the tables, proudly bearing its wilting flowers.

What really caught Sal’s attention, though, was the dog painting on the wall. It was harmless enough, a simple portrait of what looked like a golden retriever, but something about it made him distinctly uncomfortable. He turned away, and he tried to ignore the way the dog’s expression changed from a smile to a toothy snarl.

The ringing sounded again, and Sal turned his head to see a landline phone resting on another one of the small tables. It rang again, louder this time. As though in a trance, Sal walked over and picked up the phone. Dimly, he realized the table came up to his chest--he was much shorter now than he usually was. He felt like a child again.

“Hello?” he said into the phone, his voice quiet and soft, without the roughness it usually held.

“It’s okay, Sal,” a voice said on the other line. The voice was strangely familiar in a way, warm and smooth, though Sal had never heard it in his life. “Everything is going to be okay now. Come and see…”

Sal furrowed his brow beneath the bandages.

“Who are you?” Sal asked. It was the only question he could think of.

“Sal,” the voice whispered, “come and find me…”

There was a click, and the line went dead. Sal stared at the phone for a long moment, then shook his head.

It was strange, but the voice reminded him of an old friend. Someone he had never spoken to personally, but someone he still remembered clearly.

Bilal Wright.

But why would Bilal be here?

Sal shook his head again. Bilal couldn’t be here. He was in another state, after all--far away from Sal.

He set the phone back down and turned to look around the room again. It was still dark, but he could see a light switch on the wall. Carefully, he made his way over to the switch, limping with each step, and flipped it. As the lights flickered on, Sal’s eyes were drawn to the painting of the dog. It stared back at him and snarled before reverting back to its peaceful smile.

Sal stared at it for a long moment before he turned away. He looked around the room again, taking it in now that he could see. There was blood on the hospital bed, fresh enough that it dripped slowly onto the floor.

_ Was that his blood…? _

He realized he didn’t want to know the answer to that question. More importantly, however, he realized that he wanted to--no,  _ needed _ to--leave.  _ Now. _

Suddenly aware of the bandages wrapped tightly around his face, Sal turned and stumbled towards the door. His hands shook as he reached up to the knob, as he struggled to turn it. Finally, the knob turned, and with a soft creak, the door swung open, revealing a hallway with white walls and a dirt floor, lit only by lamps placed haphazardly along the walls. A strange, black substance dripped from the ceiling, staining the wallpaper as it went.

Sal stepped out into the hallway, allowing the door to fall shut behind him with a click. He didn’t look back as he started to walk down the halls, bare feet making no sound on the packed earth. As he made his way through the maze, the walls grew dirtier and dirtier, the stains starker, and when Sal looked closer he realized the thick substance was blood. A shudder passed through him, and he resolutely looked away as he walked towards a door. He shoved the door open with all his might, and when he stepped out he realized he was in a field.

Rain poured down from the sky, soaking him and chilling him to the bone. He crossed his arms and shivered as he looked around, his feet sinking slightly into the muddy ground beneath him. There was a crowd of people huddled nearby, holding umbrellas and wearing dark clothes and somber expressions. Not a single one acknowledged the small boy in the hospital gown as he walked closer to them.

Sal tried to peer around the crowd to see what they were looking at, to no avail. He frowned under his bandages and turned to see a single tree standing in the field, several yards away from the crowd of people. Next to the tree was a dog, a sleek black creature with yellow eyes that watched him intently.

With childlike glee, Sal limped his way over to the dog, hands outstretched. When he was close enough, he reached out and began to pet the creature. It leaned into his touch, but its eyes remained wide as it watched him.

“Who’s a good doggy?” Sal cooed. “Who’s a good boy?” The dog grinned, mouth full of bloody teeth.

“I buried her alive, kid,” the dog croaked in a raspy voice. “You tell me.” Sal’s hand stilled and he pulled it away as if burned.

“W-What?” he said, his voice trembling. He glanced back towards the crowd of people, only to find that they were gone. In their place was a grave.

“See for yourself,” the dog rasped.

Before Sal's very eyes, the dog disappeared, melting away with the water falling onto its black fur. Sal stared for a long moment before he turned to the grave. Slowly, he walked towards it. The rain continued to pour.

When he was close enough, Sal read the words inscribed on the small tombstone.

**Diane Fisher** ****  
**1948-1984** **  
** **Beloved Mother And Wife**

Tears began to well up in his left eye, the one left uncovered by bandages. His hands shook as he reached out and rested them on the tombstone, feeling the ice-cold stone beneath his fingers. He traced over the letters, committing them to memory.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he whispered as the tears began to fall freely down his face, blending with the rain.

He thought about what the dog had said and looked down at the dirt where he stood. The grave was clearly freshly dug. The earth was growing damp from the rain, slowly turning to mud that caked his feet.

_ I buried her alive, kid. _

Before Sal could wonder if what the dog said was true, the earth beneath him fell away, and with a shout, Sal tumbled down into the grave.

He landed hard on his knees, scraping his hands as he struggled to catch his fall. When he got to his feet again, he realized his knees were bleeding sluggishly, and his hospital gown, still soaked, was caked in blood and dirt.

Sal looked up to see if he could find a way out of the grave, only to find smooth walls of dirt. He placed one of his sore, scraped hands on the dirt in front of him, trying desperately to find a handhold, and like before the dirt fell away. Before him, sitting in the dirt as though it had been there forever, was a hospital door. For a long moment, Sal simply stared at it, before he tentatively pushed it open with a loud creak.

When Sal stepped through the door, he found he was back in the hospital. The same packed earth floor greeted him, the same stained walls, the same flickering lights. There was another door there, with a keypad next to it. Sal limped his way over to it, and he found that the keypad was almost too high for him to reach. Almost.

He typed in the first numbers that came to mind, the combination coming to him easily despite having never seen this door before. 5364. When he finished typing in the numbers, a light on the door lit up a bright green, further illuminating the dark hallway. A strange chill passed through Sal the longer he looked at the door, and he realized dimly he couldn’t hear the sounds of the rain anymore.

Sal pushed the door open and walked through, wanting to get away from that place as soon as possible. On the other side he found not a hospital room, but an apartment that was eerily familiar. There was no furniture, aside from a broken lamp on the ground, but he saw a familiar figure standing there, hunched over and defeated. Sal’s heart clenched in his chest.

Quietly, he approached the figure, whom he saw was a man with unkempt, tangled hair and an equally unkempt, tangled beard. He had his hands in his pockets and bags under his eyes, and he stared off into the darkness. The wallpaper around him was faded and peeling, and the floor was covered in debris from the decaying ceiling.

“Dad?” Sal asked quietly. The figure did not turn to face him.

“You are not my son,” the figure replied, his voice as exhausted as his face. It held a quiet determination, though. “My son is  _ not _ a murderer.”

And with that, the figure vanished. One moment he was there, and the next he was gone. All that was left of his presence was an imprint on the wall, a white outline of a man. Sal felt tears beading in his uncovered eye again, and he began to tremble.

Before he could completely begin weeping, Sal heard a soft noise from in front of him and looked up. There was darkness in front of him, hiding the rest of the apartment from view, but he could just barely make out a head of familiar blonde hair. He stared for a moment before he continued walking, careful to avoid the broken glass on the ragged carpet.

As Sal walked, the apartment began to change around him, slowly morphing into a sight Sal had only seen once when he was far, far too young to see such things: a morgue. The walls were a deep blue, lined with many small doors that hid many corpses. Fresh blood dripped from the ceiling, and with his heart in his throat Sal looked up to see four words written across it.

_ THIS IS YOUR FAULT. _

Sal stared up at the message, then he kept walking, ignoring the sound of the blood raining down. Another shudder passed through him, and he resolutely decided not to look up.

As he passed the wall of the morgue, one of the small doors creaked open, a terrible sound of metal on metal. Sal flinched at the noise and turned to look.

… There was nothing there. No one to open the door, and no one inside to be revealed.

Sa decided that it was probably best if he kept moving. So, he did, walking as quickly as his shaky, injured legs could take him. Finally, he reached the end of the morgue, where a hospital bed stood, covered in a blanket the same blue as the walls. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but Sal could clearly make out the shape of a woman lying in the bed.

Her once-blonde hair was matted and stained with blood and gore, and her sallow face was tinged with grey. The woman’s expression was vacant, her eyes closed and her mouth slightly agape.

“... Mom?” Sal asked, his voice trembling around the word. The woman did not move, nor did her expression change.

It was then that Sal noticed something strange, something he hadn’t seen before. On the wall and floor behind her were two massive, black markings on the floor that almost looked like burns. They looked like a pair of wings, spread out and forever staining the earth beneath the dead woman.

Sal felt a pair of arms wrap around him from behind, a chin come to rest on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Sal,” Bilal’s voice whispered in his ear. “Everything is going to be okay.”

~

“And that’s when I woke up,” Sal finished.

He was sitting in an uncomfortable leather armchair, his legs crossed and his arms folded in front of him. His long, blue hair hung loosely around his shoulders. Before him was a small table, where two coffee mugs and a mask rested. The mask was old and cracked, eerily expressionless as it stared up at the ceiling.

In the other chair was Dr. Enon, a man with tanned skin and dark brown hair, a thick mustache nearly obscuring his mouth. The man watched Sal through his thick-rimmed glasses for a long moment, tapping his pencil on the notepad that he held.

“Hm,” Dr. Enon hummed. He wrote something down. “Yes, it’s an interesting dream. I think we should come back to that dream later, though. For now, can you tell me more about the body?”

Sal paused.

“Which one?” he asked softly.

Dr. Enon’s eyes softened. “The second one,” he said. “The one from the apartment.”

Sal sighed and shifted in his seat. He felt exposed without his mask, but one of the conditions of having sessions with Dr. Enon was that he had to remove it. Had to make himself vulnerable.

He felt that vulnerability all too clearly as he began to speak.


End file.
